Forgery
by AnchorageUnpainted
Summary: What happens when a false assignment gets planted in Jerusalem's bureau? Malik and Altair must fight to survive while searching for the man behind the deadly assignment. Will Altair make it back alive? Will Malik be able to uncover the truth?
1. Down Time

**A/N: Ohey you guys. I haven't been here in a long, long time, and I'm really sorry about my long lost Bleach fic. But here's an AC1 fic for you. This might get long and drawn out. Excuse the first chapter, as I have to set up some plot twists for you. I'm thinking this takes place before the ending of AC1, but just so you guys know, I'm not really sticking to the AC1 plot very closely except for a few details. There will be OOC emotions, because of reasons, and mild Altair and Malik hints, with alternating points of view.**

**So, here you go, the first chapter of Forgery. R&R and be ready for the next chapter!**

****Malik****

The summer air was unusually still. The only things shading me from the outside heat were the interior of the bureau and the tall palms and greenery that grew inside the entrance. There was no breeze. Nothing to wash away the stifling heat. It made my simple job, scrawling assignments down onto parchment, feel like an eternity of baking like pottery. I'd never felt such a heat before and I wondered where all the other Assassins were. Were they suffering in the heat? In the shade, I knew I wasn't feeling the full effect of the sun. It had to be intensified greatly for the recruits out in the elements, and I almost pitied the newcomers who'd never experienced it before.

Almost.

And what of Altair? Where was he? It puzzled me that he had taken so long to complete a simple assignment of tailing a Templar for information. The silence inside the bureau scattered my thoughts. The heat, the stillness, all of it was getting to me. I wanted to be outside, moving through Jerusalem with my brothers, but sadly I was denied that simple freedom. An Assassin with one arm was as good as a mule with two legs.

It didn't startle me when I heard leather soles hit the stone patio. I was pleased to hear the echo, to be honest, as it meant that I didn't have to stand alone in the silence any longer.

I knew who it was simply by the gait of his walk.

"Altair, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come back. What took you so long?" I asked. I glanced up at him to check up on him, but he seemed unharmed.

He collapsed in the coolest corner of the bureau, curling up into a ball on a menagerie of pillows. I could hear him panting across the room but I knew the thin, hot air wasn't going to help him catch his breath.

"In all my years...I have never felt a heat like this," he gasped, pulling at his equipment. The clatter of his sword dropping to the floor was nearly deafening. "It feels like the sun is within arm's reach."

Concerned, I dipped a cup of water from the bucket beneath the counter and took it to him. He threw his hood back and I could tell that he was positively drenched with sweat-his hair was soaked.

"Don't drink it all at once. I am running out," I told him, handing him the cup. "When it cools down tonight, will you run and fetch some for me?"

"Maybe... Do I get the night off? Or do I need to go back to Masyaf?"

I shrugged, shuffling back to my post. "You do not have another assignment. So I guess you can wait here, or if you would rather go back to Masyaf, I do not blame you. But I guarantee you will get a new assignment within the next few hours."

"Then I will stay here for the night. Tell me, Malik, who sends you these assignments?" he asked. "They come straight from Masyaf and Acre. Couriers and pigeons bring them to me," I answered.

Still uncomfortable, he began to shrug out of his robes. Piece by piece the trademark white cotton fell to the floor, until he was satisfied with his temperature. I wondered how he had made it for so long without getting dehydrated.

"Well, they obviously do not pay attention to the weather," he muttered. "I thought I was going to burn out there. But anyway. What is the news from Masyaf? Anything on the caravan leader I captured?"

"Not yet. They sent word that he was carrying a journal full of entries about his last stops, but none of them have any clues to the navy captain's whereabouts, save one possible lead to a location in Cairo."

"Cairo..." he repeated softly. He stared down at his cup of water silently. "It seems like we are only getting farther and farther away from Jerusalem."

"Did you honestly expect that a navy captain would be here? In this city?"

"No. But, after all that has happened, it is nice to wish that it was here inside the city. Do you need some help, friend?"

He noticed me struggling with a stack of logs. I couldn't manage to get the stack to sit on my palm and there was no way I could pick it up without the stack tipping over.

"I would be thankful if you'd carry this for me," I told him.

He plodded over, taking the stack out of my hand carefully and following me into the archive room.

"Put it in the stack by the window, face down," I said, picking up a handful of new parchment. "And will you grab that well of ink? That is another thing I need you to get while you are out tonight."

"Do you not have any help around here?" he asked, snagging a new inkwell off the window sill. "No one to run errands or pick up your things?"

"Only when Assassins have spare time do I get any help. I am here alone, most of the time," I sighed.

"And where do you sleep? Did they give you a room?"

"I sleep on the pile of pillows in the front room, in case someone comes in."

"...it must be lonely, then."

With that, I turned around and headed back for my counter. I didn't want to answer that. Not in front of him.

If I said no, I'd be lying, and he would know it. And if I said yes, it would be a sign of weakness to him, like a crack in the foundation of a fort. I couldn't let him see that crack or he would pity me, which was exactly what I didn't want. I had enough pity from him for my lack of a left arm.

"Not at all," I said finally, knowing that if I didn't answer he would keep asking me.

He sniffed, unhappy with my answer. I tried to look interested in my work, flipping a new sheet of parchment onto the counter, but he leaned against the counter next to me to watch. I had to think of some way to get him away from me, or I would never finish my day log.

"Altair, go take a bath and wash your clothes."

He frowned at me, hopping over the counter with a sullen look on his face. "Do I-"

"You smell like stables."

"Considering I had to hide there for three hours..."

He unbuckled his boots, kicking them into the corner with his equipment and picking up the rest of his robes. It was always mildly entertaining to annoy him; it made him look like less of a stern Assassin and more like a child.

"Are the salts out here?" he called, his voice echoing inside the patio.

"By the buckets."

I was able to fill my day log while he was outside, but again he found a way to distract me. The smell of bath salts drifted into the bureau with me and I was suddenly very, very jealous of him. I knew the water would feel like heaven on such a scalding day. Even the stone bath itself was probably cool and relaxing to the touch.

He disappeared afterwards, probably sleeping on the outdoor hammock, but I didn't feel the need to go looking for him. Instead, I spent most of the afternoon scratching out rough maps from snippets of Templar journals that other Assassins had brought in. I never noticed the change in time or the drop in temperature; I kept my nose burried in my maps, working blindly until something white flopped over onto my papers.

"It is getting dark," Altair said quietly, as if he was suspicious. "If you are coming with me, then we should go now."

"The whole reason I am sending you out is because I don't want to go at all," I sighed.

"You should come to the market with me. Once. Wear my hood, and no one will know it is you."

"I can't leave the bureau-"

He sighed, his jaw set in a hard line. No matter what I told him, what excuse I gave him, he wasn't going to be happy with my answer. Maybe it was guilt. He certainly seemed like he was trying to make up for something, we both knew what, though it went unspoken.

"Run with me. Just this once," he said, his voice almost cold. What was he trying to prove?

Irritated, I snatched the garment out of his hands and tossed it over my shoulders. The left sleeve flopped loosely as if to remind me I shouldn't be following him.

After all, why should I be concerned with him? He was a man who cared nothing for his own life or mine, or apparently my brother's, so why was I set on rebuilding such a dangerous friendship? Respect, maybe, but I balked at the idea of respecting a man who didn't respect the Creed he so devoutly followed.

And yet I found myself following him out the door, toward the rooftop exit, and I let him help me up and onto the roof. He flipped a thin hood over his face, attached to some sort of loose undershirt, and motioned for me to follow suit.

His robe felt wrong on me. The shoulders were tight, the hood was loose. But being out in the moonlight, running alongside him across the rooftops felt right. The night air was refreshing and it felt even better to stretch my legs. It was what I was suited for, really. It was what I had trained for, what I had given my life to.

Even with him there, it all felt right, though I knew it wouldn't last for long.


	2. Red Cross

**A/N: Sorry about the slow update guys. It's been hectic here and I haven't had time to look up. But here you go, the next set up in the plot before the real adventure begins.**

**Thank you kyuubecky for reviewing! :3**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Within the hour, Altair and I had made it back to the bureau. He sat his urn of water down to help me down, dropping my new inkwells to me as I made it to the floor.

"You can use the pulley to get that down here," I said, pointing up at the rope and basket near the entrance. "When you get it down, pour part of it in the well in the back room and part of it in the basin for the bath."

He nodded and started dragging the urn across the roof. I shuffled to the back room to put away my inkwells, but over the sound of Altair's movements I could hear a bell jingle quietly. There was a new pigeon waiting for me.

So out I went onto the patio again, reaching into the pigeon coop to pluck the bird from his perch. There was a rather thick note attached to this one; I figured that it was for Altair, so I pulled the note off to read it and put the bird back on his post.

"Is that mine?" Altair asked, alighting behind me.

"We'll see. Do what I asked you to," I answered, waving him away as I headed back inside the bureau.

The note's contents were confusing. It requested that Altair head northwest, between Masyaf and Acre, to tail a new group of Templar soldiers and watch their movements. It didn't, however, tell how many were in the group or what exactly he was looking for. No target, no information gathering, just surveilance.

I wondered why, if he was going to tail a group, they didn't assign him a partner. Not to mention the location was oddly specific, as it had been predicted the Templars would walk on that very path. Even the time was ridiculously detailed-sundown on the 5th day of the month.

"Altair?" I called, laying the note flat on my desk. "You have to leave tomorrow morning. You have a long ride ahead of you."

He sighed, lugging the urn past me toward the well. "Of course. When do I ever have time to rest?" he asked.

"Quit whining. It's just a wait and watch. They even have the time listed for you."

"Really? That simplifies things a lot. Where am I going?"

I studied the coordinates on the note for a moment before reaching over my desk for a map. It lined up perfectly with an obscure, out of the way pathway on the edge of a canyon trail.

"Take the road to Acre, then head north, as if you are going to Masyaf, and follow the road west to the canyon. There will be a trail that leads above a small creek where you can watch from above," I said, still squinting at the map.

It all felt too planned.

"It certainly sounds easy enough. I guess I should start packing..."

"Packing what?"

He brushed past me, reaching around my back to pluck an apple out of my desk basket. "Food," he chirped, taking a massive chunk out of the apple before collapsing rather ungracefully onto my pile of pillows.

"You eat enough food to feed all of Jerusalem. And no, you can't sleep there."

"Why not?"

I rolled my maps back up, tossing him the assignment for reference. "Because that is MY bed. Sleep outside in the hammock or something."

He stared as if to plead with me. I could hear him munching at the apple across the room, bit by bit, and I wasn't sure if the noise was annoying or reassuring.

"Fine," I muttered. "But just this once. Make your own spot."

He scooped up his own stash of pillows, scooting them over a few inches away and making himself comfortable. His boots flopped to the floor, the apple core rolled past them, and his belt was placed very carefully beneath his pillow-I'd seen him sleep on it before many times.

I waited patiently until he was asleep before I even attempted to get comfortable. Missing half of my pillows, it took me forever to get comfortable, and even when I had a decent spot found I couldn't sleep. Not with him there. I didn't even bother to change clothes because of him.

The assignment ran through my mind over and over again. Would he be okay? Surely it wasn't a set up. I thought it through many times, trying to memorize the coordinates on the map. Why had it been so specific, down to the day?

How did they know about the mountain pass?

But then again, why would an assignment straight from Masyaf be harmful?

I couldn't justify it, but I tried to resolve it. It had to be something from an inside source; someone who knew the Templars and was moving with them. I wondered if it was Navid, one of the Grand Master's best impersonators, but I couldn't be sure.

At this point, I couldn't even be sure if the letter was true. Though I'd never seen a planted message before, this one aroused every suspicion in me. Every single assignment I'd ever seen or recieved myself was nearly coded, almost unreadable to the average man, so I couldn't understand how or why they'd sent an assignment in such plain speech. Nevertheless, I had to quit worrying about it; it had been signed with the Dai's signature from Masyaf, which was more than enough verification.

Again, I tried to let myself fall asleep. I tossed and turned, sinking down into my pillows comfortably, but I noticed that a white hood was tangled beneath my head. It puzzled me for a moment until I realized I hadn't taken off Altair's robes.

I glanced up at him to see if he'd noticed. He was comfortably asleep, his breathing shallow and steady, his left hand beneath his pillow on his belt. He'd either never even noticed or he'd done it on purpose.

Either way, it was more comfortable than not having a blanket, and I drifted off to sleep peacefully at last.

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><p>The early morning bells jarred me out of my sleep. I stirred, expecting to see Altair beside me, but the pillows were empty. It didn't surprise me but at the same time I almost hoped that he was outside, relaxing peacefully in the hammock, though I knew he wouldn't be.<p>

I shoved the idea to the back of my mind, struggling to my feet to go and check the pigeon coop. There were three pigeons waiting already, all carrying notes, so I assumed a lot of new recruits would be by the bureau somewhere in the afternoon.

One, however, stood out to me. There was something red tied around his foot that didn't seem right so I picked him up and unrolled the note, wondering if it was something urgent. I'd never seen the material before and never seen the color on an assignment.

I unfolded it carefully, noting the texture-it had been stamped, not printed by a Dai, which only alarmed me further.

It had a simple message.

"Thank you."

My mind reeled. I knew instantly what it was, where it had come from, and what I had done wrong. I didn't need to even see the seal in the lower corner of the message-the small cross stamped lightly into the parchment.

I let the letter flutter to the ground behind me as I made a run for the rooftop exit.


	3. Naming Names

****A/N: Hi, have this chapter. It's a gift. With action. But anyway, things are about to get shaken up hardcore. So I threw in some hints as to what's gonna happen later on, and this chapter is from Altair's point of view for a change of pace. We'll go back to Malik soon if you so desire. :3 Also, recommended listening for this ENTIRE story is the album "The Fourth Legacy" by Kamelot. I play the entire Asscreed series to this album on mah Xbox and it. Is. Awesome. See ya. ****

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><p>**ALTAIR**<p>

I had two and a half days to reach the canyon area. I knew the distance would take a full day's gallop to reach so I was truly ahead of time, but this gave me a few precious minutes to let my horse rest and to find myself a suitable meal for the afternoon.

Really, I had enough time to stop in Acre. The thought occured to me when I was a few miles outside of Jerusalem; it was a good idea, and I could always check in on the bureau there and pick up last minute supplies. I could even browse the market and find myself something nice.

Maybe I could even find Malik something nice.

Or maybe not. The notion seemed silly. Why would I give him a gift? He'd probably throw it away anyway, so there wasn't any point in wasting gold on him. Not even for new ink, or new paper, or a new quill. I knew exactly what he'd say to me.

"It is sufficient, novice," he'd sigh, and continue to ignore me.

But I had bigger, more important things to worry about. The sun was high and I'd made it only a quarter of the way to Acre before my horse began to slow wearily, protesting quietly for water. I let her walk, searching for a stream or a river, until we came to what seemed like an abandoned farm house and pond.

It was a perfect spot to stop. I slid off my horse, leaving her by the pond to investigate inside the house. The front door gave easily and I found myself staring at a mostly empty two-room house, filled with dust and cobwebs, littered with remnants of pillows and furniture.

There were a few boxes left in one corner with no label. Out of curiosity and mostly hopes for finding a stash of gold, I broke one of the boxes open and pulled the hay out by handfuls.

It appeared that I didn't have to buy Malik anything- jars of expensive blue ink were nestled down into the hay like forgotten jewels. I pocketed them quickly and searched the other boxes, though there wasn't anything else I could salvage except for one gold piece and a strap of leather.

Something rustled outside. Instantly I bristled, searching for the source of the sound, but it only alarmed me more when my horse made a nervous bray.

I couldn't see anyone near the windows, but were they on the roof? I glanced out at my horse, but her eyes were fixed on something behind the house. Something slow-moving; she stared nervously at the intruder, following intently.

I was exactly where I didn't want to be. Being enclosed took away my line of sight, so making an escape was going to be incredibly difficult. The front window was my only option for a silent exit but if they saw me on the roof, what was I to do?

It was my only way out and I had to make the decision. I stepped up onto the windowsill and hooked my hand over the edge of the roof, using it to turn around and hoist myself up quietly. It was a flat thatch roof, much to my dismay, so I had to step as lightly as possible to keep my footsteps from echoing.

A few steps gave me the view I needed. I could see his helmet shining in the sunlight brightly, a flash of red fluttering behind him in the breeze. How had a Templar known I was here? He was obviously searching for something, tipping boxes over in the back yard and peering in the broken back door. He'd spotted my horse already so I assumed he was searching for me.

He had no idea I was above him.

I made a bound over the edge of the roof, landing foot-first on the top of his helmet and driving him to the ground with a dull thump. I didn't want to kill him. Not yet. I needed answers, and I needed to know what he thought he was doing following me.

Before he came to, I disarmed him of everything I could possibly find on him. Knife, sword, and a few arrows were the only things he carried, which I found silly, but he also had an apple stuck inside a cotton pouch and a letter beneath it. The letter was the most intriguing out of all, signed with a foreign name I could barely read. Was he under contract?

The letter contained nothing more than unintelligible numbers. I couldn't figure them out, even with my knowledge of maps, and none of the numbers matched anything like a date or time. I finally guessed that they were encrypted somehow with a numbered key, so I stuck the letter in my pocket and waited patiently for the Templar to stir.

It took him a while, but when he did come to, he was still stunned. He blinked, his hand going to his bloodied forehead in shock.

"Who sent you?" I asked, placing my foot on his neck lightly. Just enough to make him stay still.

He stared up at me, wiping blood and dirt away from his mouth. The question was probably still rolling around in the empty cavity of his head.

"Are you going to tell me, or stare at me? Because I can stand here all day."

It finally registered. He made a clumsy swipe at my foot, but he learned the hard way that I wasn't going to let him up when the same foot connected with his ribs. I could hear him gasp desperately for air, curling up onto his side in pain.

"Speak, or die," I said, getting impatient with him.

He gasped once more, fumbling to find his sword. "Kill me, then," he wheezed. "I will not speak."

I sighed, pushing him onto his back angrily. "You will tell me. And then you will probably die anyway because I know you came here for me."

"I did. But I won't tell you."

It was beyond irritating at this point. I ground my heel into his chest, placing his own sword at his throat.

"You will, or I will leave you to bleed for the vultures."

His breathing was heavy and strained and I could tell that I was getting to him. There wasn't a way out for him and he knew this, though I sensed he was trying to plot some sort of escape. I could see it in his eyes.

And I was right. He rolled away from me, attempting to throw me off balance, but my anticipation was faster than his actions. He was facing away from me now, giving me his back, so I took my opening and pounced.

With my hidden blade at his throat, he was out of options. I looped one arm under his left and locked it behind him, pressing my knee into his back to keep him still.

"Cyprien Renault!" he sputtered. "Cyprien! The French man, he asked me to follow you from here!"

"Specifically from here?"

"Yes! They know-... They know your routes!"

This puzzled me. How did they know exactly where I was going to be? And at such a time? Had he been waiting here this whole time?

"How long were you here?"

"A few hours, I don't know!"

"And who is Renault?"

He was nearly choking on his own panic. "I don't-...I don't know! He is my contractor, I have never seen him!"

"Do you know anything else about him? How did you know my location?"

"It was in a letter! The letter, it told me to be here... on this road... I was coming from Acre and I saw your horse..."

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yanked him onto his back, keeping my blade at his throat. I realized he was only 18 or 19 years old at the most- the dirt and blood had obscured my view at first. What kind of man had sent him on such a mission?

"You don't want to be here, do you?" I asked, suddenly aware of the situation. No wonder he was terrified.

He wouldn't admit fear. He looked away from me, squirming beneath me furiously.

"I still have to kill you," he growled, and my lax attention let him get a grip on my robes.

I felt myself falling so I rolled into it, getting back on my feet easily. He made a grab for his sword and rushed me, but he faltered as he swung and he was slow. Much too slow.

He was gone before he hit the ground. I felt somewhat upset; he had been so young, but so spoonfed with Templar belief that his judgement was clouded. Whoever this Cyprien was, he'd talked this child into a suicide mission. Paid him to die, and for what? He would return no information and I had what seemed to be an important information on the numbered paper.

I pulled his body to the back of the house, muttering my prayers as I tried to find a covering for him. This mission was beginning to feel wrong and the pit of my stomach told me I needed to turn around and head back to Jerusalem, but at the same time, I needed to know who this Renault man was and why I was a target.

What were they after?

And why me?

I couldn't fathom it. None of it made sense, especially the strange instructions to search for me along the road to Acre. How in the world could they possibly know I'd take this path? Had he been watching me since Jerusalem?

I would have known if someone had been watching me. It would have been obvious to me.

This only made me more determined to search out Renault. I had to know. And I had a feeling that he had everything to do with the Templar troops moving through the canyon area, maybe more. Maybe this wasn't just a wait and watch.

Maybe it was the other way around and _they_ were waiting on _me._


	4. The Blood Thickens

**A/N: I am so sorry about the slow update! I can't even begin to tell you guys how busy I've been! To the anon who reviewed earlier, this isn't going to be a yaoi. I am an AltMal fan but this setting is too serious and I couldn't dare make this story any more than fluff O.o Thank you to Papercut Unicornxx (also ASDFGH Thank you for that compliment! :D), Kyuubecky (your reviews are hilarious too and I love them!), Fallen-Angel-Spirit, and the anons (NoOne and blank name) for reviewing! 3 New chapter is halfway written. Until next time, safety and peace.**

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><p><strong>MALIK<strong>

Within a few hours, I'd made it half way to Masyaf. I prayed that I was ahead of Altair, though it was growing dark and I knew he'd probably made it to Acre already. I couldn't catch up with him but I could at least get help from Masyaf and send it his way.

The ride gave me time to formulate a plan. I knew his exact location, had the evidence, and Grand Master wouldn't dare let Altair die. If I had to, I'd gather an army to go retrieve him; who knew how many men were out there waiting for him?

It was clear to me that someone, somewhere was sabotaging us from the inside out. I had to find out who when I got to Masyaf, and even if I didn't go to save Altair myself, I would stay behind to dig up the traitor.

I found it incredibly odd when I came to a road block about three quarters of the way to Masyaf, surrounded by Assassins. I'd never seen such a checkpoint on this road.

"Where are you headed, brother?" one of them called to me, holding his hand out to signal my pause. I reluctantly slowed my horse beside him, debating my answer.

"North, past Masyaf," I answered, partially a lie. They didn't need to know where I was going.

"What are your reasons?" he pressed. The entire roadblock was made of what looked like hay carts and stacks of boxes. Nothing serious. My horse could make a jump over the boxes easily and the men were spread sparsely along the crates.

I eyed him back, trying to recognize his face. I'd never seen him in my bureau before, but I wondered if it was because he was new or just from a different district.

"And what are yours?" I needled. "Let me through."

"I cannot let you pass without knowing your reasons. Masyaf is on high alert and we must monitor traffic."

This made me incredibly suspicious. What in the world could be going on in Masyaf?

"I am delivering parcels to a family north of Masyaf. Is that suitable?"

"Show them to me."

My stomach churned. I didn't have parcels, and if I did, I wouldn't show them anyway.

These men couldn't be Assassins.

I finally came to another solution. If I could prove that these men weren't Assassins, I could simply fight this one off and jump the barrier. All I had to do was check his left hand somehow; did I have anything useful with me?

It dawned on me that I still had an envelope of letters in my robe pocket, all from Damascus to Jerusalem. If I could get him to expose his hand...

"Here," I muttered, pulling the envelope from my pocket. I made sure that I placed it toward his left side and I was pleased when he reached for it accordingly.

He still had his ring finger. It reinforced my hunch when he moved to open the letters, exposing his right to me; it was also unharmed and complete.

"Tell me something, brother," I snapped, placing my hand on my sword. "A man of your age should be advanced enough to wield a hidden blade. Where is yours?"

The man paused. He knew I'd caught on, but he wasn't sure what to do now. He was cornered. The rest of his men shifted nervously, tension thickening the air, all of them waiting for his command. It never came.

I tore my foot from my stirrup, crushing the bottom of my boot into his face before he could react. The rest of the blockade went into a frenzy, drawing swords from every nook and cranny, but I was ten steps ahead of them.

I could barely hold on as my horse lept across the barricade. The letters fluttered everywhere behind me as we dashed for the horizon, though I could hear all of the impostors behind me and catching up with me quickly. They shouted back and forth at each other in languages I didn't understand and didn't care to learn; I just wanted far, far away from them.

My luck ran out quickly. I could see another horse out of the corner of my eye, edging closer and closer until it was even with mine. Its rider reached for me but I managed another kick, this time to the man's ribs, and he lost control of his reigns. The horse fell behind quickly without its rider's directions, but he wasn't the only rider after me.

I had no choice. I bit down on my own reigns, hooking my feet back into the stirrups tightly before drawing my sword. These men weren't going to go down without a fight, but neither was I.

We rode for what seemed like hours. The thunder of hooves became a distant roar to me; I was too busy swinging frantically at my attackers, praying that I didn't fall or get stabbed. Each bend in the road was a chore as I had to turn my own head with my horse's, taking my focus away momentarily as I fought to keep it on track.

The road felt so endless. My body was weary and my arm covered in fresh wounds, but I urged my horse onward. The men were so close, always on my heels, constantly reaching for me. We would slow, let them nearly catch before pulling away again, but nothing could prepare me for what happened next.

My horse faltered. I felt her balance leave her and we tumbled into the dirt and rock, skidding for some length before sliding to a halt against the base of a small cliff. My legs were pinned beneath her and she wasn't going to get up any time soon-the exhaustion had nearly killed her. I could feel blood and dirt ground into the side of my face and my arm, stinging angrily, but more importantly, my persuers were galloping up to survey the scene.

"Lie still, and I will put you out of your misery," one of them growled, drawing a dagger from his belt. "And maybe your horse too."

"This is a cowardly way to kill a man," I snarled back at him. "Striking while he is crippled."

"You are an invalid anyway. Think of it as a mercy killing."

The words stung more than the open wounds on my face. Invalid? Was that how I was perceived?

He drew his dagger back, catching my wrist as I made a swing at him. I braced for the pain, squeezing my eyes shut-...

And then nothing.

He made a strange noise, much like a gargle, before I felt his hand fall away from my wrist. I opened one eye to look, finding him lying in a pool of blood at my horse's feet. The rest of the men with him, all three, were lying dead. New feet stood in their places.

"Are you alright, Malik?"

The voice startled me. A white-hooded face peered at me, eyes shining in the afternoon sun.

"Navid?" I coughed, spitting dirt and dry grass. "How did you...?"

He motioned for the other men to pull my horse off my legs. They each grabbed a leg, tugging her off me slowly, even though she protested in pain.

"We were told by a...'concerned traveler' that a barricade had been placed on this road. We were on the way to check it out when we found you in this predicament," he answered, kneeling down beside me. "Are your legs alright?"

My entire lower torso felt as if it was decompressing after they pulled the horse away, but I didn't seem to have any broken bones. Just a bloody face and another dent in my pride.

"I am fine. I ran her too hard trying to escape those men, but I had no choice," I sighed. "Can you please take me to Masyaf?"

He nodded, helping me up out of the dirt. "There have been some strange happenings here as of late. Impostors, false orders from the Grand Master... You have not heard any false orders, have you? Is this why you are here?"

"No, no it's...worse than that. I will explain on the way because I don't have time to stand and talk."

Again, a silent nod, and he whistled to one of his men. They were young, probably his students, though they seemed efficient.

"Bring my horse," Navid quipped. "Malik and I will ride to Masyaf. You and Hasan go check out the road block, but do not let them see you. Return immediately."

The other man saluted him and scurried off, retrieving Navid's horse quickly before mounting his own. He repeated Navid's orders and the other men followed suit, disappearing into the dusty haze that covered the road.

Navid bounded onto his horse, offering me a hand up. "Some farmer will find your horse and put it to work. Do not worry," he said, noticing that I glanced back at her. "Now, tell me what brings you here from Jerusalem."

The motion of his horse's gait nearly killed me. My entire body was aching and my face burning, but I had to hold on or I would never make it to Masyaf.

"Altair came by my bureau yesterday. That night, an assignment came in late, and he was asked to go out toward the canyon above Acre soon. He left early enough that he has an entire night to spend elsewhere, but the assignment was forged."

Navid shook his head. "I cannot believe this. How are they getting into our letters? Getting our uniforms and equipment?"

"That is not the worst part. I have a feeling that they are waiting for him in the canyon; it was supposed to be a surveillance misson, but the date and time were so specific that I think they must be waiting to trap him."

"How did you find out that it was forged?"

"This morning, I got a new letter by pigeon that said 'thank you'. It was stamped with the Templar seal."

"Well, that would explain it. What do you plan to do by coming to Masyaf, friend?"

I sighed, gripping the back of his saddle tightly. "I have no idea. I thought I could get help to send for Altair... Al Mualim would not let him die in such a way."

"You are right. Altair is like his son. Surely he will send a group of us to help."

"How far are we from Masyaf?"

"...About an hour's ride. You came a long way very quickly, Malik. No wonder your horse gave out on you."

"Let's hope yours can carry us all the way back."


	5. Bait

****A/N: I am so sorry about the slow update. As always. :D I hope you like this chapter. Things just went even more downhill for Altair, and I know this is sort of a filler, but I tried D: RnR guys! And thank you ALL for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! :3 ****

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><p><strong>ALTAIR<strong>

Acre was oddly noisy. The town was usually known for its quiet atmosphere, but the citizens seemed to be rallying at something. They had gathered at the city square for some reason, screaming and shouting and crowding around some sort of platform. Torches faintly lit the area around the platform, giving it a hazy, smoky aura that made me uneasy.

I left my horse at the nearest stable and crept closer by rooftop. Nightfall had dimmed the area and I struggled to focus on the object of their attention, but it seemed to be an Assassin. My heartbeat raced angrily; why was he out in the open?

But then I saw the rope around his neck. A noose. Held at the other end by a tall man dressed in black and red, a small cross insignia on his left shoulder. A Templar. His frame was slim and his actions oddly measured. I noticed how groomed he seemed with his brown hair combed cleanly and his clothes seemingly untouched by dirt.

Other Templars stood around him, all solemn and quiet, while this man hushed the crowd with a thick accent not of Acre.

"These rats plague the Holy Land," he shouted, parading around the bound Assassin. "They are everywhere. In everything. Lying low like snakes, ready to strike and kill at any time. Trained killers and murderers. Do you want these kind of men in your streets?"

The crowd roared back in agreement.

"We will restore peace in this land! Under the rule of the Templar hand, your people will have a fortune never known by another land! We wish to help, to be involved in your activities, while these Assassins who own you now wish to hide in secrecy and let you live in squalor!"

The man threw the end of the rope around a post, tying it securely. They were going to hang him in front of everyone-I couldn't let this happen.

"This man, caught attempting to assassinate ME, must die for our cause. I, Cyprien, pledge to make this land whole again, no matter the cost!" the man howled.

Cyprien. This was the man I was looking for. He was too far away for a throwing knife and too heavily guarded for me to get close to him, but I at least had a chance of cutting the other Assassin down from his hanging post. If I could cut his rope and run I might be able to make it out of Acre in time, even if I didn't get Cyprien in the process. I could hunt him down later on his little parade of power through the rest of the cities.

I lept from roof to roof as quickly as I could, slowly making my way closer and closer, until I was in range. It would be a difficult target to hit with a knife, but I had to snap that rope the second it started to go taught.

But then again, I was almost close enough to leap from the roof onto the platform. The guards were far enough back from the post that when I landed, I would have plenty of space to cut down the Assassin, unbind him, and run. I might get wounded, but it was better than letting this innocent man die.

"Do you have any final words, Assassin?" Cyprien asked, tightening the noose around his neck.

The Assassin shook his head. I made one final movement to the nearest rooftop I could find, planning my leap. As if to invite me, Cyprien backed up and down the back of the platform onto the ground. He was out of my reach then, surrounded by guards, but this left the Assassin wide open.

I saw the executioner reach for the lever. My feet left the rooftop at the perfect time; I sailed through the air, landing on the executioner's back just as he pulled the lever and driving him down into the platform to stun him. As soon as my feet hit the wooden platform I made a swipe and cut the rope, letting the other Assassin drop to the ground, and I slipped through the trapdoor in the platform to cut his ties quickly.

I could hear the crowd gasp simultaneously. The Assassin was choking, confused, and beneath the platform it was dim and hard to see. I blindly made a cut at his bonds, managing to set his arms free and drag him out before the guards could figure out how to get to us.

The biggest obstacle turned out to be the crowd. They were seething, ready to kill me and my fellow Assassin, but they underestimated me. A swift kick to one man's stomach made him stumble, knocking him backward into the crowd and sending whoever stood behind him into a jumbled mess. People collapsed on each other from their close proximity, falling into each other and flattening out a small part of the crowd for me. This was just enough for me to jump over. I stepped on anyone I could find, using them as sort of a ramp to give me the height to leap over the back of the crowd. The other Assassin followed me closely, still in shock, but at least I had saved him.

The rest of the run was clear sailing. The streets were empty and we had nothing to stand in our way, nothing to keep us from the exit of Acre.

The open fields were a welcome sight. We ran as far as we could, never looking back until we knew the guards had given up long ago. We stumbled into a small cluster of farm houses, collapsing against a stone fence when we were sure we were alone.

The other Assassin pulled his hood back, wiping his face clean.

"Khalil?" I asked, squinting at him in the dark. His chest heaved from lack of air. It was the farthest either of us had fully sprinted.

"Yes," he breathed. "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't."

He rubbed his neck gingerly. Even in the dark I could see the rope-burns that had bruised his skin.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I think... My neck will be sore, and I have a cut on my side, but I will be fine. How did you find me?"

"I was supposed to be heading north of here, but I stopped in Acre for the night. Fate was on your side, Khalil," I told him, sitting up to get a look at our surroundings. "Tell me, how did you get into such a predicament?"

"It was a trap. I was told to be in Acre early this morning to find a man named Renault and kill him, but I walked straight into some sort of trap. They snatched me off my horse in the middle of the street and dragged me into a cell. When I tried to fight, they knocked me out and tied me like an animal," he explained. "In all my years, I have never been tricked in such a way. I am not sure if Jerusalem's Dai is corrupt or if it was a planted assignment-"

"Malik would not send you on such a mission," I said lowly. "You know this."

"No, I do not. I do not know much about him save that he is a bitter, angry man. So I cannot trust him," he snapped.

I quelled my anger as best I could. He was tense and it obviously clouded his judgement.

"It seems we are both in over our heads," I said, trying to get away from the subject. "I fear my own assignment is false, seeing as how my target is ahead of me by miles and nearly a day. I would appreciate it greatly if you'd follow me to the canyon..."

"I am going back to Masyaf. If you know what's good for you-"

"But wouldn't it be better to stop them before this gets out of hand?"

He thumped his head against the stone fence angrily. "Altair," he started, grimacing. "This newfound nobility of yours will get us killed. They probably anticipate our every move. In fact, they may have known you or another Assassin would save me tonight. Maybe I was bait. But we can't assume that we can stop them so easily. Just two of us? When they could have an entire army waiting on us?"

"We could just go for a look," I pleaded. "To let everyone know that there's a traitor in-"

"Altair."

"What?"

"Have you not been listening to me? Come back to Masyaf with me. Back to safety, where we can tell everyone of our news and gather Assassins."

Again, I bit my tongue. He wasn't going to go with me; I couldn't convince him to, no matter what. I almost didn't blame him but I needed someone on my side, and I wasn't going to go back to Masyaf without some sort of evidence. Who knew what was going on there anyway? What if Masyaf was under siege?

"Go back, then. Tell the men where I am at, and I will go on to the canyon," I said, standing up slowly. I dusted grass and hay off of my robes, checking to make sure that I still had all of my equipment. "Tell them what happened to you and what you have seen."

He sighed, still cupping the back of his bruised neck. "I will do as you say," he muttered. "As soon as I find a horse I will be on my way."

I glanced around, searching for a stable. There were four horses a few yards away from us, corralled for the night, but they would have to do.

"Leave some gold for the man who owns these horses and take one. It's our only choice," I said, helping him up off the ground. "I will leave it on his doorstep."

He nodded, leaving enough gold for the man to buy a new horse, as did I. I prayed that the horses were suitable to ride on but when Khalil mounted his, it didn't seem upset, so I presumed we were safe.

"Safety and peace, Altair," Khalil called to me, circling his horse around the outside of the pen. "I pray you return to Masyaf unharmed."

I struggled to get a grip in my horse's mane-riding bareback would kill me, but I pulled myself up eventually.

"All the same to you. I will see you soon," I answered him.

He nodded, and we parted ways beneath the moonlight.


	6. Roll Call

****A/N: Hi :3 I missed you guys. I wrote a big chapter over spring break. Malik has a little moment in this one. But things are turning around...slowly. And dramatically :o R&R and THANK YOU ALL for all the faves, alerts, and reviews! :D****

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><p><strong>MALIK<strong>

Masyaf tower was cold and full of unrest. The night air was chilly and I struggled to keep my mind on my plan, though Navid told me I would have to wait until early morning to speak to Al Mualim. This infuriated me; if Altair was in danger, I needed to speak to the Grandmaster immediately.

I didn't have time to wait.

Navid offered me a room and a bed, though I knew I wouldn't sleep. I thanked him for it anyway, trying to make myself comfortable, but I couldn't make myself calm.

He shared the room with his younger brother, Ibrahim. The extra bed was left over from their friend who'd chosen to leave the Creed and I didn't ask why, I simply took what was offered and made the best of it. After all, I would only lie there for a few hours. No longer than three or four, I knew, because I couldn't make myself stay still for that long.

It surprised me when Ibrahim recognized me.

"Are you Malik? THE Malik Al-Sayf?" he asked, perching on the end of his cot.

"That would be me," I answered. "Why?"

"It's just that...I hear a lot of stories, about you and Altair," he chirped. "About how amazing you are."

My chest felt as though it would turn inside out. I tried to look away from him, pulling my robe off and placing it on my cot as a substitute blanket.

"Ibrahim, don't bother him," Navid snapped, waving his hand at him. "Let him rest."

"No. It's alright," I said. "Let him speak."

Ibrahim beamed at me. He was innocent, after all. A harmless teenager, probably only 15 or 16. A true novice.

"Navid told me once that you and Altair took down a whole troop of Templars once!" he said, scooting closer and closer to the edge of his cot. "And that you brought the captain's helmet back to Al Mualim."

I chuckled, fllopping down onto my cot. It was true, and I remembered it clearly; 10 Templars were like a walk in the park. The captain of that troop was such a coward that he left his men and ran, but Altair was on him first. The helmet was probably still in Altair's old chambers.

"It happened sort of like that. There were only 10 Templars," I told him. "It is nothing to brag about, though. Tell me, when do you start your training with the hidden blade?"

"He will not start for a few more years," Navid added. "He still has some growing to do."

Ibrahim was positively insulted. "That's not what the Masters said!" he squeaked, glaring at Navid.

"Yes, it is. You are overly ambitious, Ibrahim. You do not get to a rank as high as Malik's by rushing and forcing your way through the training. Right, Malik?"

Navid looked at me as if he needed validation. I shrugged.

"Sometimes, Ibrahim, ambition is a good thing if you can harness it," I said. I flopped back onto my cot, rolling over so that I could see both of them. "But don't let yourself get too stubborn or headstrong. If you believe you are ahead of your friends and you feel above your training, you will never be able to learn correctly from your elders. You have to take a step back, reign yourself in, and listen. You may learn something that will save your life one day."

Ibrahim was soaking up every word I spoke. He gazed back at me with childlike brown eyes, letting my words rattle around in his head for a moment before speaking.

"I understand," he said, tugging at his grey novice hood nervously. "Do you think I'll be like you one day?"

That question made my throat tighten and the pit of my stomach churn. I bit my lip, staring up at the ceiling to distract myself, but I couldn't get away from that awful, sinking feeling.

I couldn't count the times that Kadar had asked me that very question. Ibrahim was so much like him that it made it hard on me to be in the same room with him; they had the same personality, the same innocent demeanor that crumbled every barrier I'd ever built. I simply wanted to take care of him, and though I knew Navid was an excellent older brother, I still wanted a way to fill that void. I still wanted to be that figure in someone's life.

Ibrahim would never be a substitute for Kadar, but just for a moment I felt like I had done something right again. He was waiting on my answer, still curled up on the edge of his cot, and for once I felt like my guidance could be useful once more.

"Maybe one day, you'll be as old and wise as the Grand Master. You can be better than me if you set your heart to it. Don't aspire to be like me, because I am nothing special, but aspire to be better than me. Alright?" I said, choking back the lump in my throat. I couldn't let him see me this way.

"Perfect advice," Navid said softly. "Now go to sleep, Ibrahim. You have to get up early tomorrow."

Ibrahim sighed, tossing his slender frame onto his cot dramatically. "I wanted to talk to Malik," he whined, scooting down into his covers. "But I guess he has to sleep, too."

"We all do." Navid glanced over at me once, scanning over me like he was concerned before running a nervous hand through his curly black hair. "Sleep well," he said to me, turning his back to the window.

They drifted off to sleep easily, but for all the hours of the night, I lay still, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling.

Morning came as a relief to me. The second that light filtered through the window I was out of my cot, rushing for the Grand Master's room though my entire body was aching and sore. My legs screamed at me as I hauled myself up the stone stairwells.

I could hear him speaking to someone outside his door. His voice echoed off the walls of the hallway and I was curious to know who'd gotten to him before I did, though it turned out it was just a novice. No threat there.

"Grand Master, please come with me to your library," I pleaded, rushing for his door. The novice seemed insulted, but I waved him away. He knew who I was so he didn't waste any time gettng out of my presence. "Please. As soon as you can."

Al-Maulim was puzzled; his one eye flickered back at me curiously. "Why are you not in Jerusalem?" he asked, pulling his door shut behind him. "You left your bureau-"

"Forgive me. But this is more imporant than paperwork and maps," I said.

I wanted to tell him outright, but there in the hallway our voices echoed and I trusted no one. His library was a much more suitable place to speak as I didn't want us to be overheard.

Reluctantly, he followed me through the corridors and to the giant staircase in front of his library. He took his time climbing the steps behind me as I bounded up them, ready to tell him, wishing that he knew the urgency of the matter.

"Malik, you had better have a legitimate reason for being here. We are dealing with a bigger crisis than-"

"Altair is going to die. That's my reasoning. So please, hear me out," I snapped. I couldn't take any more of his skepticism. "And pardon me for being rash, but I have to tell you everything I know if we want to save him."

That seemed to get to him. I had his attention now and he waited on me to continue my explanation.

"There was an assignment sent to him through my bureau. It told him to head to the canyons for a simple mission. Something that didn't seem likely he'd get in the first place, but we thought nothing of it. So I let him go, and he left early enough that he had extra time to get to his destination. But the next morning, I got another pigeon who was carrying a note with the Templar seal that simply said 'thank you'. It leads me to believe that his mission was forged and that he's heading to his death; not to mention I was attacked at a false barrier covered in Templars dressed as Assassins. I barely made it away from them alive, and I would have died if Navid and his men hadn't found me about an hour from here. There are traitors in our midst, Grand Master, and I fear if we don't send men after Altair he could die in the canyons. I feel that it's a trap. And who knows how many other Assassins are out there on other false assignments?"

Al-Mualim unrolled a map across his table, staring down at it silently, in thought.

"Where was he sent?" he asked, and I pointed above Acre toward the canyons.

"He was supposed to follow this trail and wait on a Templar troop. It was oddly specific about when and where," I answered. "But since he had extra time, maybe he stopped in Acre. He's not supposed to be in the canyons until later this afternoon."

The old man's face was unreadable. He simply stared down at the map, not even looking up at me to speak.

"What of this barrier you came across?" he asked.

"On the main road, there was a poorly put together barricade that had 'Assassins' blocking the road. When I came to it, I was asked about my business and they wanted to search me, but when I realized they weren't Assassins I jumped the barricade and they pursued me," I answered. I pulled up my sleeve to show him the wounds on my arm. "They nearly had me. And I nearly killed my horse from the running; it collapsed and we slid until I was trapped by the horse, but Navid saved me from the rest of the Templars."

He sighed, thumbing the edge of the map. "This is a bold move for the Templars. As a precaution, I will send a group of my men to the canyon area to help Altair, if needed. As for you, I want you to stay here until scouts tell us your Bureau is safe to return to. Chances are they know you left it and will be waiting for your return."

"What about the imposters? And the false documents?"

"Do what you can to sort it out. If you can tell the false ones from the real, then please, by all means, destroy them. Look for signs of a traitor. Should you find him, kill him on the spot. Do not give him any chances of getting away. Ask Navid or Yaman to help you if you should need assistance."

I nodded. In my heart I felt that I could do it all alone; maybe I had some redeeming qualities.

He had no more to say. I rushed back down the stairs, heading for Navid's room, but I could hear Al-Mualim tolling the emergency bell. Five tolls- danger.

Assassins emerged from every crack and corner like animals, all headed to the courtyard and to the sound of Mualim's tolling. I was nearly lost in the sea of white and grey pouring through the hallways but I needed to get to Navid and tell him the plans.

Luckily, he bumped into me in the throng.

"He's sending a troop," I said breathlessly, tugging on Navid's sleeve to get his attention. "He's sending men after Altair!"

"Good, good! And what of you? Did he send you back to Jerusalem?" he asked. Men bumped into us from every direction and we had no choice but to go along with the flow of the crowd.

"No, I have to stay until scouts say it's safe for me to go."

"Ah. I know you would want to be here anyway," he said. "We must find this traitor."

The bright morning sun nearly blinded me as we stumbled into the courtyard. Assassins everywhere, some bleary and confused, sat waiting Al-Mualim's summons. We could see him perched on his platform, waiting for each Assassin to gather in front of him.

"Someone in our midst has betrayed us," he started, his voice bouncing off the courtyard walls. The Assassins gave an audible gasp. "I have heard of many rash movements by the Templars, and now they have gone so far as to lie to our men and send them into traps. Altair Ibn-La'ahad is among one of our men who is in danger, and there's no way to tell how many more of our men are out there and in imminent danger-"

The citadel gates clanged loudly. Everyone, even Al-Mualim stopped to see who had made it back alive.


	7. Leads

"He speaks the truth," shouted the man. He rode slowly up the edge of the sloped courtyard, his horse exhausted. "I was sent on one of these false missions and I was nearly hanged for it."

Another gasp, then murmurs from the crowd. Assassins went to the man to help him off his horse, and even from where I stood I could see rope burns around his neck.  
>"Where were you sent?" the Grand Master asked.<p>

"Acre. The Templars there have turned the citizens against us and they were waiting on me when I arrived. I was the subject of a public hanging and I would have died had it not been for Altair."

"That's Kahlil!" Navid whispered. "He looks beaten..."

"Do you have any other information? The name of your captor?" Al-Mualim called down to him. "And did you tell them anything?"

"I told them nothing. They framed me but I learned the name of their leader. Cyprien Renault."

Thick tension fell over the courtyard. Al-Mualim sat in silence for what felt like hours, peering down at Khalil from his perch.

My mood picked up when I thought about the time frame. If Altair had been in Acre last night, then we had time to save him. IF and ONLY IF he was taking his time getting to the canyon.

"And what of Altair?" the Grand Master asked. It was as if he could hear my thoughts.

"He left for the canyons after we escaped from Acre. It was last night."

It was such a slim chance, but I had to hold onto what little hope I had. The other Assassins seemed as if they had already given up on him.

"All of my masters and upper ranks, come to my library. We will plan this out as quickly and solidly as possible," Al-Mualim said finally. "Kahlil, speak to Malik Al-Sayf immediately."

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><p>Kahlil was in terrible condition. He was dehydrated, nearly delusional from the heat and lack of water. There were open wounds on his torso that needed expert attention and he had terrible whiplash, so talking to him was a bit of a commodity.<p>

As soon as I could get time with him, I shoved my way into the infirmary and ushered away attendants.

"You have some information to give me, I believe," I started, sitting down beside him.

He rolled his head over wearily, squinting at me.

"I told Al-Mualim nearly everything I know. I want to rest," he sighed.

"Please. Not until you tell me everything. Every last detail. I need to know. Where did you get your assignment?"

He took another heavy breath and squirmed around on his hay cot, clutching at his wounded side. "I got the assignment from you, Malik. Same as always. I rode to Acre, to the location on the assignment, and when I arrived there I was surrounded by Templar soldiers. They beat me, bound me, dragged me into a cell, and they were going to hang me as some sort of little show of power in the city square. Like a warning to the other Assassins. Or maybe a trophy. I don't know. I didn't hear of any plans or any hints. Just the name of their leader. Altair cut me down as they were going to hang me and we ran out of the city, took two horses and parted ways. He told me that he was going to the canyons and that he was worried his assignment was also false."

"That's really all you know?" I snapped, more viciously than I meant. "Was he hurt? Or did he tell you anything about his assignment?"

"Forgive me for being so ignorant, but that's all I have to tell you," he shot back.

I realized my place and shut my mouth. If he was being honest, then I had no reason to attack him so.

"I apologize. I am...desperate, to say the least, because it seems that these dangerous assignments have come mostly from my own bureau. And it's my fault for not having noticed it sooner," I muttered. "If you hear anything, please let me know."

"I understand."

"Rest, and heal quickly."

I left him rather abruptly, mulling over what he'd told me. So far, I only had the most baffling of information and leads. In fact, they couldn't really be called leads. More like snippets and clippings of once-useful information. It was all bouncing around in my head angrily as I rounded the corner and I didn't expect to crash into anyone, but when I did it was a mess.

"Malik, how unobservant of you," Navid scolded, raising an eyebrow at me. He stooped to pick up an armload of parchment I'd caused him to drop, holding it close as if it were private. "How is Kahlil?"

"Not good," I quipped, wishing to go around him. I had a plan to work out and I didn't have time for conversation.

"Ah. It sounded like he didn't know very much."

That piqued my interest. Had he been eavesdropping?

"You heard? How long were you standing there?" I asked.

"I had just come around the corner. It's not like I don't know the entire situation, anyway," he countered, as if he was offended by my questioning. "Either way, I have my own work to do. Safety and peace."

I didn't return his parting words. I simply brushed past him, wishing that I could find any sort of coherent information. I let the tolling bells drown out my thoughts, knowing that they were announcing the departure of the Assassins headed for the canyons, and I prayed that maybe, just maybe, Altair would be alive to fill them in.

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><p>Nightfall came and no word had returned from the canyons. I had spent all day burried in transaction letters and assignment approvals, my guest room littered with papers as if I'd upturned an entire library. I found no trace of the false assignments and no evidence of where they could have been planted.<p>

This lead me to believe that they had been forged right outside of my bureau, dropped in conveniently while the other letters had been intercepted. For that to happen, and for the letters to seem legitimate, someone would have to have stolen parchment and seals from inside Masyaf or another bureau. And if items had been stolen from the store rooms in Masyaf, there would be discrepancies in inventory files.

I ended up sifting through the last month's log book on stocks that had come in and gone out of Masyaf. There were logs of horses, linens, all sorts of irons and leathers, and it took me over an hour to find anything related to the incident.

Finally, I came to the previous week's logs. I noticed that there were smudges and blotted out instances in the pages; numbers had been scribbled over and replaced with lesser or greater amounts as if miscounted, which was unheard of. The inventory workers had always been meticulous.

Under closer scrutiny, I noticed that the handwriting wasn't exactly the same. It was very well forged and undetectable to the casual reader but whoever had scribbled over the entries didn't have quite the same slant to their script.

I checked at the end of the book to see if anything had been logged in or out for the day, and what I found disturbed me. Under the entry for parchment, I noticed that the number had been scratched out messily. I could barely make out the number 80 beneath the ink. I rushed to count, thumbing through all the papers to find that there were only 68 sheets total. And I even counted twice.

It occurred to me that I had seen Navid carrying rolls of parchment and my stomach lurched. Surely he didn't have anything to do with this; he'd saved my life. Killed Templars right before my eyes.

I flew down the hallways as fast as my feet would carry me, throwing the door to his room open. He sat perched on his bed, quill in hand, his brother sitting behind him patiently.

"How many rolls of parchment do you have?" I asked, watching him furrow his brows at me in confusion.

"I have five. Why?"

"Why do you need them?"

Ibrahim gave his brother a questioning look, so Navid turned his paper around to show me.

"I use them to teach Ibrahim how to write. I've been scratching out the numbers in the log books so the attendants know when to recount," he answered, quite calmly, and when I saw that only the alphabet was on the paper I felt foolish for doubting him. "They told me it was alright for me to use some of the supplies. So I take only what we need."

I sighed angrily, having run into another dead end. Simple math told me I wasn't quite done yet, though. If Navid had five papers, then there were still seven out there somewhere that were uncounted. Was he being used as a cover?

"Nevermind. Can you tell me who else has permission to go into the stock room?"

"Only Iman and Mahmud."

I had my first lead.


End file.
